Moon Drunk Monsters
by IAmTheBrovahkiin
Summary: A small difference on that fateful night set Hiccup on the path to a different future. Or did it? An older, more vicious Hiccup claws out a destiny for himself in the unforgiving world of Vikings and Dragons – and neither side shall get in his way. Not your average fic. M-rating will be well-deserved.
1. Perhaps Destiny

Chapter One: Perhaps Destiny

The sun was still high above Berk when Hiccup knew there would be a raid that evening.

There was no warmth that came with the supple spring light. The longer, snowless days encouraged Vikings of all ages outdoors, but they did so with chins nuzzled against the furs covering their chest. A crisp breeze swept from the ocean and flowed between the small but sturdy houses, pushing back against men and women carting their supplies about.

Hiccup watched the village members go about their activities from the top of the Great Hall stairs. He could see almost every house and stall of the main square; the towering trebuchet towers and the dribble of storehouses which followed the ramps down towards the docks. And between it all, the Vikings of Berk worked, laughed, talked and walked.

For all their lumbering and gracelessness, there was a strange, unspoken coordination. The way that they conversed and functioned around themselves reminded Hiccup of an ant colony. Vikings carrying logs from the forest joked between themselves; stopped to look at the wares on sale at a stall; hollered encouragement at wrestling children. The fisherman brought baskets of fish and eel from the docks, already knowing which families would prefer specific catches. Clangs of steel against steel rang out from the arena, followed by cheers and chants of onlookers.

It was a way of life. Their way of life – not his.

"Off with tha fairies again, Hiccup?"

Hiccup flinched, his broom bouncing in his grip. He turned to the doors of the Hall to look at his once-mentor.

"Gobber," Hiccup nodded, a wisp of a smile forming.

The burly blacksmith looked past the teenager, and out to Berk. "Ain't nothing betta than broth and drink on a chilly day like this" Gobber said, adjusting his pants after what must have been an immense meal. The man let out a yawn in the face of the sun and stretched his arms out. Hiccup rolled his eyes as mead spilt from his tankard-hand appendage and onto the stone steps.

"Oh yes!" Hiccup said, "thank you so much, for a minute I thought I had run out of work for the day"

"Eh?" Gobber looked past his belly, at the small puddle. "Ah. Well, yer arms could use the extra use, now couldn't they?" He gave Hiccup a teasing nudge.

Hiccup snorted. "Nonsense, just look at these tree trunks" the teenager gave his arms a flex, and now it was Gobber's turn to roll his eyes.

"Ye'd best finish up and grab some soup inside before they run out" Gobber gulped down the last of his drink and started hobbling down the stairs. "Would'a had another few bowels but I've got work much t'do in the forge"

Hiccup bit his lip, wanting to ask, but also not.

"How's Gustav?"

Gobber stopped on the step he was on, and Hiccup swore he heard the man sigh. He had lasted a long time without asking the question. "He's a good lad. Gettin' better at grinding but still needs more strength for tha hammer and forge"

After a pause, Hiccup forced a smile. "I'm glad he's shaping up to be an apprentice"

The blacksmith simply nodded and kept on walking.

Hiccup cleaned the mead from the steps with several sweeps of his broom. Casting a quick look at the sun, he guessed he had finished the steps in several hours. An average day. Hiccup looked back to the doors of the Great Hall, hearing the chatter of other Vikings as they ate and took time away from their daily activities.

The teenager's eyes hardened, and he turned back to march down the stairs.

o-o-o

The undisturbed walk towards the docks had dissolved much of the stiffness in Hiccup's shoulders. Sure, people scowled at him from a distance and made pathetic efforts to look like they were not gossiping about him. If they stayed out of his face, he was content.

The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the wooden boats and walkways, shimmering against the wind like a lavish indigo fabric. There was something beautiful about the simplicity of the view, Hiccup thought. He could look out to sea and see none of Berk. Staring out at the blue, he could envision himself on a boat or on another island, or anywhere that was not here.

Hiccup shook his head. No distractions.

The teenager continued walking down the docks by the water. Unremarkable wooden buildings lined the paths to the water – pressed against the steep rock faces. The destruction of dragon raids meant that much of Berk's storage was kept far from the village centre. It was an admittedly smart idea – even if it risked exposure to the sea's wrath. Hiccup passed two separate storehouses, and at the third, pushed open a large door and walked inside. Cutting through the dust, the sun shone on barrels, buckets and baskets stacked high. Hiccup did not care enough to check what was in them. At the back of the room – in the dimmest corner – a small bed and a set of folded clothes lay. His bed. The teenager grabbed up a fishing pole from under his bed, before dumping the broom in their place. Without so much as a second look, Hiccup took his tools, grabbed a nearby basket and left.

Since being expelled from Gobber's smithy, Hiccup had fallen in love with fishing. Every catch was a reminder to himself that he did not need these Vikings to survive. Every moment he sat by the sea was a moment of careful thought and quiet reflection. Hiccup let himself get lost in his thoughts; only turning away from his detailed sketches and elaborate plans when a nibble tugged on the rod.

"Here we go," Hiccup breathed, leaning back and pulling against the strongest catch of his afternoon. The hefty cod which he eventually hoisted from the water was exactly what he was looking for – much larger than the others he had caught in the hours before. With a rare, victorious grin, Hiccup grabbed his prize by the gills, unhooked the fish and went to place it –

The cod jerked in his hands, and searing pain tore through Hiccup's right arm. The fish's spines hardly scraped him, but it was enough to rip a shriek from his throat and sap the strength from his legs. The pain was tender and seeped into his bones and up his shoulder.

The gnashing ache faded to a throb within seconds, and burning fury washed over.

Hiccup threw the fish to the floor and slammed his foot down. The skull of the creature exploded under his heel with a wet _crack!_ Hiccup took several deep breaths, settling his rage before lifting the cod by its limp tail and unceremoniously tossing it in the basket of fish. Blood and all sorts of sickly fluids dripped from the crushed head and onto the wooden dock.

Hiccup looked down at his arm – uncaring of the mess he had made. Pink and red scar tissue covered every inch of skin from his elbow to his knuckles – raw and revolting in appearance. Deep cracks webbed around the wrinkles of his hand and wrist, weeping pus and blood. No matter how much time passed, or how little he used the arm, it never fully healed. A constant reminder of the past.

Hiccup fucking hated it.

Hiccup bent down and dipped his right arm in the seawater, hissing as the brittle cold shot up his limb. The salt soothed him and kept the wound from infection – one of the few benefits of living by the docks. Hiccup returned his now-filled basket to the storehouse, swapped the rod for an old, splintered woodcutting axe and made his way back to the village. If he were to enjoy his catches, he would need firewood to cook them.

Hiccup gripped the axe in his hands, sighing. He hated how quickly his mood could swing by aggravating his wrist. His fingers and palm were unscathed – so he could hold things reasonably – but Hiccup doubted the rest would ever be pain-free. Stares from Vikings fell back on him as he climbed the stairs and ramps of the docks. A dry smile pulled on Hiccups lips, remembering how it felt to care what people thought of him. Shame and embarrassment were powerful forces, but too much of it, as he quickly learned, can lead to immunity.

The teenager thought about the sensation that overcame him earlier in the day, as Vikings nearby made great efforts to ignore him. The day was _too good_ for a raid to not happen. Too much work had been done, and the houses almost looked-worn in appearance. It had been at least two weeks since the dragons went about their business and undid the work of so many Vikings here, while the favour was returned and their seemingly endless numbers were thinned.

Ahead of Hiccup, past a row of houses and stalls, the Village Square hustled with activity. In a dozen hours or less, the chatter of Vikings could very well be replaced by the deafening roar of dragons, met with savage war cries. It was the song of the endless cycle – an ouroboros of brainless and starved creatures versus arrogant and stupid Vikings that could only end in death, if at all.

Hiccup would have no part in such absurdity.

" _Gah!"_

A cold, wet lump slammed into the side of his head and he stumbled, his foot catching on an uneven rock and tripping him over. His hands throbbed in pain from catching himself, but Hiccup knew it was better than landing on his scarred wrist. Laughter rang in Hiccup's ears, and a foul smell assaulted his nose.

"I told you it would work, dimwit"

"No, mutton-head, he tripped himself"

"Well I'd like to see you do any better"

Hiccup groaned to his feet and stared down his attackers, shaking his head free of whatever hit him. His jaw clenched at the sight of four teenage Vikings – a sight not surprising nor welcome.

Tuffnut waved at Hiccup, brandishing a crude sling. Behind Tuffnut, his sister and Hiccup's own cousin howled with laughter. "Head-shot, ooh-rah!" Tuffnut cheered as if he had won some grand competition. Hiccup could hear snickers from onlooking Vikings, and his knuckles turned white gripping the axe.

"How impressive, you hit an unprotected target from ten yards away" Hiccup sneered, "Go bother someone else, maybe they will put up with your shit"

The twins and Snotlout laughed harder like he had made some clever referen –

Hiccup wiped his face and looked at his hand. Ah. Of course, he had pelted yak shit. How funny. Hiccup stared back at the teens, his face pinking in embarrassment and anger. Standing between the twins and Snotlout, Astrid stared back at him. The blonde shield-maiden had not so much as giggled, but as Hiccup flushed a small, vindictive smirk appeared on her face.

"Babysitting these children today, Astrid?" Hiccup asked, imitating her pose with his hands on his hips. "Surprised you have the time, given all the chieftain shadowing you have to do"

Astrid's smile dropped. The dimples he so rarely saw but once worshipped as a child vanished, and her brow hardened to steel. _Good._

"I have finished all my work for the day" She answered, meeting his stare. "When you listen to what you're told and work how a Viking _should_ , it's easy to make spare time"

Hiccup huffed. "Well I still have work to do, so call off your minions and leave me be"

Hiccup wiped his face once more and marched past the group. The teenager did his best to not react as Snotlout dipped his shoulder and shoved him on the way past, snickering all the while. He heard footsteps from behind, and he feared another attack.

"Don't bother, lout"

"Useless can't just say that and walk away!"

"He isn't worth it" Astrid reaffirmed.

Astrid's voice was stiff, but Hiccup could still hear the lilt of humour in her tone. She was once indifferent to teasing him, but he knew she now enjoyed it. She did not even try to hide the fact.

The handful of bystanders let Hiccup pass and the teenager furiously scrubbed his face with the fabric of his tunic. His breathing came out in ragged pants, and he gripped his axe so tightly he had forgotten he was holding it. He _would not_ let them get to him. They were no different to the other Vikings who mocked from a distance. Irrelevant. Childish.

The stench of shit watered Hiccup's eyes and a loathsome voice whispered in the back of his mind. _She's right. Nearly eighteen years old and nothing to show for it. Hardly even worth talking to._

"Shut _up_ " he growled to himself, storming down the pathways between houses. His eyes were locked on the ground, his feet carrying him like a boat in a freezing, raging storm.

 _The other teens have been killing dragons for years now, and you can't even handle their words,_ he thought. Hiccup reached the village edge did not slow as the grass and gravel became shrubs and rocks. As he left the village further and further behind, the shrubs and rocks became trees that blocked the sun, and boulders that Thor himself could not move.

Hiccup tore his tunic from his body – his scrawny frame tensing against the cold's bite. He furiously scrubbed his face with his shirt, until his skin pinked with irritation. No amount of cleaning could remove the stench, however. Or the shame.

The forest around the teenager glowed with afternoon light, and Hiccup came to a halt. The cluster of trees that made this part of the forest was far younger than others and small enough for even the smallest men to cut down and carry. Most of the Vikings of Berk saw such an effortless opportunity as weakness, but Hiccup thought it was just enough wood for him.

 _Weakness. That's what this is. Don't bullshit yourself about being efficient. You really are what they say you are,_ Hiccup thought.

Hiccup grit his teeth and turned his back on the juvenile trees. He threw his shirt on the ground and marched towards a towering, fully grown tree with the axe in both hands. Snarling, he planted his feet, reeled his body and _swung._ The axhead sunk only an inch into the aged wood, so Hiccup jerked the metal edge free and swung again, and again, and again.

Every _thump_ in the wood was aimed at a face. A Viking who had cast Hiccup out with their words and actions. Snotlout. Astrid. Ruffnut. Tuffnut. _Stoick_.

It was dozens of swings later when the teenager's temper simmered, and his arms burned with exhaustion. Sweat seeped into the cracks of his scarred arm and stung him back to reality. Hiccup tossed the axe aside; gasps of air steaming from his mouth like smoke from a dragon. The tree in front of him now bore a hideous gash, several inches deep and spanning two feet long. At this rate, the tree would still stand come winter.

Hiccup was too tired to get upset over the measly fruits of his rage. Instead, embarrassment and shame uncomfortably churned in his stomach.

Why did they get to him so much, he wondered? Nearly everyone on Berk treated him with the same disdain, yet he could happily tell them where to shove their opinions. But the teenagers? Something about their words, their expressions of loathing and their actions just…

Hiccup shook his head. He had sulked enough for one day. This world would not defend him, or reason with those who were out to get him. All he could do is try to shrug off their blows, and live his own life.

Hiccup picked up his axe and looked back at the smaller trees. He came with a job to do, and he would see it through.

o-o-o

The first thing Hiccup did after opening his eyes was smile. A broad, ear-to-ear grin that one would never see in public.

His belly drooped in his body from all the fish he had eaten just hours before. The embers from his old cooking fire had left the room snug and oh-so-soothing. The fishing and woodcutting had not been all successful, but it had tired his body to the point of genuine satisfaction.

But the largest reason for his joy was the sounds outside – the war cries of Vikings and bellowing of Dragons locked in combat against each other. He had been right about the incoming Dragon raid.

Hiccup sat up and gave his arms a stretch. He doubted that he would get back to sleep anyway. Since moving into the storeroom, he had never been woken by a raid. Either the fighting was concentrated to somewhere near the docks, or the situation outside was worse than usual. Either way, he did not care.

"Guess the day's gonna start earlier than normal," he said aloud, freeing himself from the warm furs and standing up. He felt well-rested, he reasoned internally, and he had enough leftover fish for an extra meal.

Hiccup stoked his cooking flame back to life so that his corner of the room was lit in a dim orange hue. The teenager spluttered as embers and smoulder bloomed from the extra wood he threw in. Hiccup marched to the door and opened himself a small gap for the smoke to escape.

The roar of fires and winged beasts clapped Hiccup's ears, and he flinched at the noise. No wonder he woke up, he thought. The raid sounded merciless.

Maybe he could see what was going on from the docks? He would still be safe, and no Vikings could claim he was getting in the –

A flash of light pierced the room through the gap in the door, followed by a deep _boom!_

"Well, fuck that" Hiccup muttered, stepping away from the door. He returned to his cooking fire; moved his bed furs to the floor and sat against the wall.

((" _Aw come on, let me out – please!" he moaned, hanging slack in his tunic from Gobber's appendage. "I need to make my mark!"_

" _Oh, you've made plenty ah marks" Gobber retorted, dropping Hiccup and jabbing his chest "All in the wrong places!"_

 _Hiccup was unaverred. "Please, two minutes. I'll kill a dragon; my life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date."))_

Hiccup remembered a time where he would have wanted nothing more than to charge outside into the suicidal blaze of glory in the foolish hope of slaying a dragon. The war between Berk's Vikings and dragons was an endless cycle spanning dozens of generations, hundreds of bloodlines and thousands of deaths; all he ever wanted was to be included and recognised.

Hiccup spat into the fire, and the flames sizzled as if in frustration.

There was no honour to this war. Only stupidity. There was no pride in killing dragons. They were little more than hungry pests which took advantage of a food supply that was practically dangled in front of their nostrils – no different to rats or gulls. The Vikings of Berk had the audacity to stay on their borderline-inhospitable island with defenceless livestock, and then claim that killing animals in search of an easy meal was some noble, status-worthy deed.

Only after losing interest in the opinions of Vikings, did Hiccup come to this realisation. Without care for honour and glory, all Hiccup needed to do was stay out of the way and keep his possessions safe, and no dragon raid would ever affect him.

"You wouldn't leave your fish out by the docks and claim how great you are when you kill a nagging seabird" Hiccup laughed to himself. "How is this any different, _oh-so-glorious_ defenders of Berk?"

 _Thump!_

Hiccup jolted, as did the storeroom he sat in. A great noise shook the walls; not coming from the door, but from high above. Hiccup rose to his feet and stared up at the shallow ceiling.

A downed dragon must have crashed on the upper levels of the docks, Hiccup reasoned. Nothing hits the ground _that_ fast on purpose. Hiccup briefly imagined a morbidly obese Gronkle falling from the heavens, and he let out a snort.

The unmistakable scrape of claws against wood silenced his thoughts.

Hiccup gripped his axe, hardly aware that he had picked it up. It was as if a rodent was freely scuttling around some room on top of him. Only there was no room above him. And this animal sounded a hundred times larger.

 _What was going on?_

The noise faded, and Hiccup released his breath with a great sigh. Perhaps the shot Dragon had damaged its wings and was escaping the hard way.

The sound of claws returned. This time, loud enough to make Hiccup's hair stand on end.

 _Surely this animal didn't find the ramp which leads to the storerooms._

"There's nothing here, Dragon" Hiccup whispered, his heart rising into his throat. "Go back to the fight with the loud Vikings"

Noise no longer echoed through the wooden structures around him. Scraping and creaks came from outside. Hiccup felt like he had fallen in a frozen lake, and his breath hitched in his chest.

 _Shit._

The floor faintly trembled with every step that the creature made. Thawing the icy fear from his muscles, Hiccup slowly, _carefully_ hid amongst the barrels and crates which filled the room. Through a sliver of space between boxes, Hiccup could see the door.

There was a rumbling huff of air – deep and harsh. _Could… could the dragon smell him?_ Hiccup tore his gaze back to the way he came, and looked at his setup. The basket beside his bed had leftover fish. He looked back at the door – _which he had left_ _open_.

 _Shitshitshitshitshit._

It had to be a Zippleback. Hiccup could hear four clawed feet, but it did not sound heavy enough to be a Gronkle, or aggressive enough to be a Nightmare. The thought of sickly green gas filling the room before blowing Hiccup to Hel had the teenager trembling violently. Was this how dragons felt in the arena? Caged and trapped before their death?

Hiccup had not killed a dragon – he had never come close. He detested the vermin and wanted them gone, but had never been stupid enough to risk his life when the odds were so heavily stacked against him. He was not skilled like Astrid; strong like Snotlout, or had a twin to watch his back. And with not a bead of care for Viking honour and respect across the village, what was the point? Nobody could do anything to dwindle their numbers. Such reasoning spilt out from Hiccup's mind as he accepted that he may face one of the beasts, whether he liked it or not.

The pale light which spilt under the door flickered, and the creak of wood stopped.

Hiccup held his breath. Every muscle seized up and smothered his shaking.

The large door groaned open, and the moonlit view of the outside was smothered by a shape of pure, inky darkness. The shadow took a step closer, and Hiccup stared back at a pair of reptilian eyes. Watchful. Predatory. So very green and so very _intelligent_.

 _That is no Zippleback._

The dragon looked around the room. It's head, Hiccup numbly noticed, carried all the shape and sleekness of a dagger. Slowly, it stepped further into the light of Hiccup's dim fire, and each glossy scale blazed amber, like molten metal.

Hiccup's body had frozen solid, but his mind had done anything but. Thoughts and observations, all bathed in sheer terror, flooded his mind. Whatever species Hiccup was looking at was fast. Above the creature's small but muscular frame was a pair of enormous, curtain-like wings which cast sharp shadows against the wall. The wings melted into a firm tail, so long that it was still half outside.

The dragon's eyes narrowed into aggressive slits at the sight of the fire. Its growl was guttural like a stone bounced within its throat. Hiccup doubted a creature so perfectly built for the darkness was enjoying the light.

The dragon sniffed deeply, swivelling its head until it faced the Hiccup's basket of fish. The beasts alert posture and hostile expression slackened ever so slightly, and it toppled the basket with a swipe of its front leg – splaying the contents onto the floor.

Hiccup recoiled at the speed of the animal and his back leg bumped against what must have been a cart. The wheels of the cart squeaked and Hiccup's gut did a somersault before threatening to exit through his ass.

The dragon was now staring in his direction.

 _Oh, gods._

Invisible hooks pulled at the scales on the dragon's face, tightening its expression to one of raw, deadly wrath. Its body turned to face the barrels and boxes Hiccup hid behind, and the teenager could see hundreds of individual muscles writhing underneath the beast's scales. The dragon's maw opened only slightly, and a shrill, ear-grating hiss filled the room.

Hiccup did not move. Hel, he _couldn't_. Every thought that scurried inside his head was crushed by raw, primal instinct. Still. Do not move. Not a breath nor blink. He was not an observant, thoughtful onlooker. He was prey – and the predator was here.

An explosion rocked the storage hut, and orange light flickered from the open door. The dragon ceased it's hiss and whipped its head towards the outside world. The dragon looked back to Hiccup's direction and let out a final snarl. It ate the fish at its feet with three large mouthfuls and turned to leave.

Hiccup held his breath, but his body sagged in sheer relief. The ring of his own heartbeat receded, as did the terrifying idea of facing such a beast with only a woodcutting axe. The dragon cautiously strode out the door, and Hiccup cast a daring glance behind him towards the object which nearly killed him.

It was not a cart.

 _((Hiccup had to admit that Gobber had a point. He was terrible with just about every kind of weapon – a simple bola included. "Okay, fine. But this will throw it for me"_

 _The scrawny blacksmith apprentice gestured to his newly finished bola launcher. He rested a hand on its casing and like a Terrible Terror, it snapped into life, flinging a bola straight past Gobber and into the face of a Viking.))_

((" _Where are you going?"_

" _Come back here!"_

" _I know, I know" Hiccup called out, pushing through startled Vikings with his bola launcher armed and ready to fire. "Be right back!" he yelled, feeling the eyes of his village on him._

 _His heart rate boomed in his ears like the war drums in the great hall. The Night Fury was out tonight. It had been months since the ultimate dragon had contributed to a raid, and longer still since it had done such damage. If there was ever such a prize that Hiccup needed to earn the village's respect, the Night Fury was it._

 _Hiccup had to get to a vantage point – somewhere overlooking the carnage where he could make a clean shot. The teenager ducked under a flaming wooden post and kept pumping his legs, praying his father would not catch him before he got the chance._

 _The pathway ahead forked, and a wild smile lit up Hiccup's face. While the right path went downhill and towards the Arena, the left way took him past the more secluded houses and straight to a perfect lookout point. The horizon was pinking with morning sunlight and Hiccup knew the Night Fury would only strike once or twice more, so he had to –_

 _A fireball slammed into the ground beside Hiccup, throwing his launcher on its side. Hiccup followed his contraption and toppled to the ground. The teenager's gut sank as he frantically rolled over and gaped at a Gronkle just yards away – its open jaws filled with thick, cleaver-like teeth and a red glow that meant it had far more fireballs ready._

 _The glow in the dragon's mouth brightened and Hiccup dived to the side. A fireball slammed into the wall behind Hiccup, and the boy ran for his life on the path leading downhill.))_

The bola-launcher was caked in dirt, rust and dust, but was undeniably Hiccup's. After that fateful night, he always assumed that Stoick had destroyed it in rage. The teenager gaped at the contraption he made more than three years ago – abandoned in the storehouse he chose to live in, of all places.

Hiccup whipped his head up and looked through the crack to see the dragon's bat-like tail brush past the door and out into the night.

No thoughts scrambled through his mind. No inner voices stirred inspiration or dismissal. With single, decisive breath of air, Hiccup dropped his axe, gripped his launcher by the handles – thin and brittle – and wheeled it towards the door.

Hiccup felt the launcher in his hands; the weight of a machine he took months to build. He smelt the salt from the ocean and the age of the wooden walls. The moonlight shone in his eyes through the door he quickly approached. And yet nothing felt _real_. His body carried itself with such freedom that Hiccup wondered the last few minutes were a dream.

Hiccup stepped from the confines of the storehouse and turned. The dragon was still on the docks, clawing at the doors of the nearby buildings – undoubtedly trying to replicate the success it had found with Hiccup's fish. He dumped the bola-launcher on the ground and wrenched the aged wooden casing apart. The metal frame and drawstrings snapped into position, just as smooth as the day he made it.

The dragon looked straight at him, and Hiccup looked back through the metal sights.

Somewhere deep in Hiccup's mind, a muffled voice begged him to flee. To snap out of this strange and stupid stupor and avoid a gruesome death by an unnamed creature. Another voice, clear and collected, whispered in his ear.

 _The dragon will leave. The sun is rising and its eaten enough fish for you to not be worth the effort._

The monster's wings were flexed – half open, ready to burst forward and cross the distance between it and Hiccup before the teen could blink. But as Hiccup held his ground, the dragon let out a growl, turned to the sea and launched upwards with a single flap of its _enormous_ wings.

Hiccup shuffled himself around, keeping the dragon in the metal sights as it climbed into the starry sky and turned to fly over the island. The teenager grabbed the metal lever and wrenched it back. The bola launcher squeaked and shuddered as he pulled against rust and all sorts of filth that had built up inside. With a soft _click,_ Hiccup moved his hands to the trigger and waited.

"Why?" Hiccup whispered, frowning at what he was doing without so much as a conscious thought. What was the point in this when he had reasoned against it so many times?

Maybe this was revenge for stealing his fish, he wondered. Perhaps this was the opportunity to test his launcher – the last invention he ever made in the forge – against a live target? Was he doing this because this dragon seemed so intelligent, so _different_ from anything he had seen before, and he could not stand the defilement of his expectations?

Hiccup did not know the answer to his question and he doubted he ever will. All he knew was that reputation, glory and war against dragons could get fucked.

The bola launcher screeched into life as Hiccup depressed the trigger; strings, levers and cogs that had gone unused for years burst into life. Hiccup was flung backwards as the machine practically exploded under the force. A spinning, whistling blur shot upwards and was swallowed by the darkness faster than Hiccup could have ever intended.

Eyes wide and reeling from the shock, Hiccup stared up into the night. The dragon had long vanished from sight, and the whistle of the bola faded into an eerie silence.

Hiccup took a deep breath. And another.

A quiet _thwack_ echoed across the dock, followed by a shriek so inhuman – so menacing and threatening – that Hiccup knew exactly what kind of dragon he had hit.


	2. Unholy

Chapter 2: Unholy

 _((Hiccup had experienced some close run-ins with dragons but nothing like this. As he ran from the Gronkle the sounds of the fighting faded until only the fluttering of wings and hungry snarling resounded from behind._

 _Panic flooded Hiccup as he frantically zig-zagged down the pathways, desperately looking for a hiding place or some nook to dive into. He could not stop running, but every step away from the fighting lowered his chances of being rescued._

 _Hiccup's boots slid against dirt as he sharply turned around the corner of a small house. He had to turn this chase around so that the other Vikings could save –_

 _A deafening noise thundered in Hiccup's ears and the wooden wall which he ran alongside trembled like a leaf, before leaning over towards him. The teenager threw himself to the side and dust flooded his vision as the wall of the house collapsed._

 _Hiccup scrambled to his feet and spared no thought to just how narrowly he avoided being crushed. The house he had tried to run around was little more than a mound of planks and clay bricks, with a very confused and enraged dragon freeing itself from the debris. The Gronkle quavered to its feet and its tiny wings fluttered the beast back into the air. It's beady yellow eyes remained unfocused and perplexed as it stared about, and Hiccup wondered if his manoeuvre had knocked it senseless._

 _Hiccup made a dash for the closest house before the dragon noticed._

 _There came a warbled snarl and Hiccup's blood froze to the unmistakable noise of another fireball bursting from the Gronkle's maw. The teenager turned to watch a blinding glob of fire further down the pathway – missing him by an enormous margin._

 _Hiccup frowned._

 _The dragon fired again, clearly able to see Hiccup peeking from behind the nearest house. The fireball soared past Hiccup and exploded against something with a loud boom. A grin wormed onto Hiccup's face at the dazed creature's efforts at hitting him._

 _His grin slipped when the Gronkle landed back on the rubble and charged. Hiccup's foot caught as he tried to step and he fell on his back with a grunt as the beast charged at him with its maw gaping and full of cleaver-like teeth and Hiccup did not even have time to scream as the dragon –_

 _A whirring bola whipped around the dragon's thick body. Its jaws slammed shut and the meaty legs which carried it were snagged, bringing the beast down just yards in front of Hiccup. The dragon gurgled furiously, struggling against the bonds. A Viking rushed in from around the corner and Hiccup slammed his eyes shut as the man brought his axe down on the dragon._

 _Hiccup scrambled to his feet and cloudiness in his vision threatened to send him back to the floor. The Gronkle corpse was a grisly sight now, and the brushes with death did nothing to help his light-headedness. More Vikings rushed in now, following the man who likely threw the life-saving bola._

 _Except they ran past him and the dead Gronkle - further down the pathway from the fight._

 _Hiccup's eyes followed the Vikings and saw where the Gronkle's misses had struck. Flames had engulfed houses and a wooden bridge with glowing, furious intensity. Angry and squirming tongues of fire were rising higher and higher with every second._

" _Hiccup."_

 _Cringing, Hiccup turned to look at his father. Stoick the Vast did not meet his son's eyes. Instead he looked out at the carnage which was spreading rapidly – no anger, no shame, only focus._

 _The Chief spoke before Hiccup's frantic explanation left his tongue. "Wait in the hall."_

 _No frustration, and no scolding. Stoick spoke in a way that Hiccup had never heard in this situation, and marched towards the inferno without another word._

 _Hiccup's gut sank, and a shaky breath fled from his chest. It dawned on him that he had screwed up more than anyone had thought possible.))_

o-o-o

The sounds, aches and blurred sights of reality flooded back into Hiccup's mind. Dreams and memories were washed away, reduced to little more than an uncomfortable sensation at the back of his head. The teenager groaned as he sat up – his legs and back stiff from the awkward position he lay in.

Blinking dazedly, Hiccup rid himself of the cloudiness behind his eyes. He was on the docks, with his body powdered with dust which shimmered in the morning light. Hiccup frowned at the sight, until his eyes caught the source of his dirtiness.

The curled-up mess of ropes, wood and metal parts that was once his launcher unleashed a torrent of memories. Hiccup's eyes widened, and he looked out to the sky in front of him – now blue and clear.

 _Had he really hit it?_

It had to have been a Night Fury. The screech was unmistakable, he thought. Not to mention, the beast which entered the storehouse looked unlike anything he had seen. The shimmer of glossy scales and hissing of raw menace flashed in his mind, and he shivered. He had never felt such a sense of danger.

Hiccup groaned to his feet and dusted himself clean. He stared at what was left of his launcher, equal parts proud of its success and frustrated at the memories of the times when he made such contraptions. A smile spread on Hiccup's face as he pictured Gobber's reaction to what he had achieved last night.

 _Achievement._

Hiccup tore his eyes from his launcher and he looked back to the sky. The sharp _twang_ of the bola snagging on the Night Fury echoed in his mind, and he imagined every Viking of Berk learning of what he had done.

Hiccup took a slow breath, letting the ocean air sink deep into his chest. He waited.

The teenager smiled – amazed, frankly, at how little he felt.

No surge of honour and glory rippled through his body. The Viking blood which mockingly flowed through his veins did not boil into life, and the chants of a hundred past generations did not bellow in his ears.

There had been no fantasises of glory, or desires to 'do his part in the war' during his exchange with the Night Fury. He had been little more than a man defending himself against an unprovoked attack, and had made the beast pay for coming so close to taking his life.

That, and that _alone,_ caused pride to swell in his chest. The fact that it was a dragon no Viking had ever faced only sweetened his victory. He was not helpless, and he was certainly not _useless_. Nobody could take that away from him.

Hiccup looked back to the remnants of his launcher and felt a cool sense of finality wash through him. The Vikings would be in uproar if they saw him fiddling with his old inventions. The boy approached the contraption, and with a sharp push he wheeled it off the docks. The heavy metal and aged wood gave the launcher little hope at buoyancy, and Hiccup watched as the fruits of his youth were swallowed by the hungry ocean.

Only a single wooden plank, embedded with metal pins and bolts, bubbled to the surface.

Hiccup stared at the unremarkable, albeit rust-free, piece. Bobbing in the water with the sun beaming down, it glimmered and shone like the finest weapon.

 _Nothing wrong with keeping a little trophy to remember this._

Hiccup bent over and dipped his scarred arm in the soothing waters, then lifted the wooden plank from where it floated. The piece was solid yet light, and so smooth along the edges that Hiccup felt triumph swell within him once more.

The teenager returned to his home, just yards from where he had fainted earlier that morning, and placed the plank under his bed. His cooking fire was little more than embers now, and his fish basket was still knocked to the side – mockingly empty.

Hiccup smiled nonetheless. He had given the dragon far worse than it got. The teenager cleaned his corner of the storeroom and propped the launcher piece against the side of his bed, before letting out a sigh and taking his broom in his hands.

Self-declared dragon slayer or not, Hiccup still had to do his part around this wretched village, lest they banish him altogether.

o-o-o

Unlike the day prior, the sun made no effort to obscure the bitter cold. Swirling clouds, thick and dark, had rolled over from the west and choked the sky of any warmth. Hiccup had been comfortable by the docks when he woke, but from the steps to the great hall there was nothing to shield the chilling wind.

Hiccup breathed heavily, sweeping with all the strength in his arms to keep the burn of fatigue smothering his shivers. He tried to clamp his jaw shut but an eye-watering yawn forced itself from his throat. The pace he worked at was only worsening his mood and sleep-deprived body. Not even his triumphs against the Night Fury could salvage his temperament.

Hiccup kept his eyes locked to the stone ground while he heard footsteps grow louder from the hall.

 _Are they going to ignore me, or make some stupid noise?_

The nameless Viking who passed Hiccup snorted with distain, and Hiccup would have mockingly snorted back if not for the itching frustration growing within him. Every Viking reacted the same way while he worked – a testimony to their communal stupidity.

Hiccup, on the other hand, was not a moron. He knew that the stairs did not need to be cleaned once a day – or even once a week. Either the village wanted him cleaning these stairs for half the day to 'keep him out of trouble', or to humiliate. He did not know which was worse.

Hiccup looked out to the rest of the village below, and wondered if the view was the real reason he was forced to work there. With its warm orange glow from inside and a shape that differed from the nearby homes, Gobber's smithy was painfully noticeable. In between bitter gusts of wind, he could hear the faint clang of a hammer on steel. Hiccups grip tightened on his broom as if it were a hammer. _His_ hammer.

It had been almost a year since he had worked in there and felt the orange glow of forge fire on his face. Almost a year since he had let the swings of his hammer transform swirling, unguided emotion into flowing, gleaming steel. It was and always had been an outlet for him, and while his new fishing hobby was soothing, he had never felt close to as satisfied. To be allowed back in the forge, even for one last time, would fill him with a joy he had not felt for a long time. To feel the power of crafting something worth more than its simple fragments.

 _But we both know that won't happen, will it?_ The malicious voice whispered from the depths of Hiccup's mind, and his fantasies shuddered to a halt. _Your chances of ever being trusted again are long gone._

The roof of the smithy was laced with dark scorch marks, which was little in comparison to nearby structures. The raid of that morning had been brutal, Hiccup deduced, with smoke still pluming from houses by the forest edge and pools of dragon blood staining the pathways. Vikings scurried about the village, as per usual, but with drooped shoulders and a noticeable lack of pace.

Hiccup tore his eyes from the view and looked down the pathway winding through Berk. Two Vikings approached the stairs and the teenager's gut shrivelled into an icy ball.

Astrid. Stoick the Vast.

Frustration and fatigue fled Hiccup as the pair marched towards the steps leading to the hall. If not for the clashing of blonde and auburn hair, a stranger could have claimed them father and daughter. The conversation they shared was awash with equally furrowed brows; equally high chins and equally large arms being waved about. Their weapons and armour, both smeared in dragon blood and ashy burns, only strengthened their image as a working pair.

Hiccup wanted to bring his broom down on their heads and make them feel every inkling of suffering they had caused over the past three years – but in the pair's wake, only despair filled him from a source so deep that he hardly knew himself.

If Astrid or Stoick cared for Hiccup's presence, they did not show it. Instead they continued to talk while Hiccup returned to intently staring the steps while he swept – preferring a hug from a Monstrous Nightmare over a stare from either of them.

And yet at the same time, the thought of them simply disregarding him left a sharp tightness in his chest.

"– Aye, but Bertha and I are more alike than I want'a admit," Stoick said gruffly. Hiccup continued to stare at the floor, but he could imagine the man's expression. A red-haired canvas of stern wrinkles, fresh scorch marks and murky green eyes. "I won't meet if she thinks this' outta desperation and she will feel tha same."

"Fishlegs has a way with words, Chief" Astrid replied, "He could be with you while you write your letter and make sure it's as neutral as possible"

Stoick made a sound which sounded like agreement and the pair continued up the stairs. The well-endowed Bog-Burglar chieftess was the only Bertha Hiccup knew, and from what he could recall from his childhood, she and Stoick were indeed similar. Their bellowing arguments of old still rang in his ears.

 _Perhaps the latest raid has encouraged some alliance talks._

The pair left Hiccup's earshot, and he could no longer resist the urge to stare. To see if they gave even a sliver of acknowledgement to his presence. The teenager looked up and watched as Stoick and Astrid marched to the highest stone steps, and while the Chief walked forward to open the wooden hall doors, Astrid turned around and met Hiccup's eyes.

 _((The great hall was a cacophony of mutters and hisses, and Hiccup knew where every one of them was being directed._

 _Morning light bled through the doors to the hall, and cast light on hundreds of ashen-faced Vikings, each of them dishevelled from one of the harshest raids in living memory. The cause of such hardship, however, was not from the Dragons._

" _How are weh supposed to get to the Kill Ring!" A Viking called out, and bellows of agreement echoed around the hall._

" _Silence!" Stoick boomed, dropping his child-sized hammer on the stone table with a resounding clang. The Chief stared ahead at the crowd of Vikings, not once casting his gaze down to Hiccup by his side. "I will not have my kin babble like babes in tha face of struggle." The hall simmered down, yet the glares of an untold number of Vikings had Hiccup's ears ringing with shame and misery._

 _He had only wanted to help, and show what worth he truly believed he had._

" _Mulch, Bucket," Stoick cast his eyes across the table to a pair of cumbersome kinsmen, unremarkable in their burly appearance with the exceptions of Bucket's rather unique headwear. "Tha two of yeh have built half the ships on Berk, and know wood like yer own stumps. What's tha state of the bridge?"_

 _The pair exchanged a look, and Mulch shuffled closer to the stone table. "Er, it's..." Mulch's gaze flickered to Hiccup, and the teenager saw a flash of guilt. Hiccup and Mulch had always gotten along, ever since Stoick sent his son to help weave nets by the docks as punishment._

" _Ah wouldn't step on it, Chief," Mulch said. "The wood on tha' bridge was some'ah the oldest and driest on Berk. The Gronkle blasts weakened the main beams and caused a blaze which finished em off."_

 _The room erupted into noise once more, and Hiccup felt his stomach drop. He had burnt down huts, homes and set an all manner of things ablaze. But never had he destroyed something as important as the bridge between the main village and one of Berk's landmarks._

 _Stoick let the deafening voices continue while his gaze lowered and brow furrowed into thought. Hiccup saw a hundred plans and goals unravel in his father's murky green eyes._

" _Ah'm calling the hunt off." Stoick announced, his voice deep; quiet even. The hall silenced fast enough for Hiccup's ears to pop. "Until we get tha bridge fixed, there will be no searching for the nest."_

 _Vikings that surrounded the table looked more shocked than enraged. The chief hated dragons with the passion of a thousand blazes – to call off perhaps the last hunting chance before winter was drastic._

 _Stoick looked up, and his auburn eyebrows softened into a rare look of resignation. "And no dragon training either"_

 _The reaction that followed could not have been further from the previous announcement. Groans rang through the hall and Hiccup felt like Snotlout had punched him in the gut. Dragon training was supposed to be his chance – his best shot at leaving behind the clumsiness and the failure, and leave a mark that would finally make his father proud._

 _Devastation thrashed aggressively in Hiccup's chest, yet he knew that a handful of individuals would be even more distraught._

 _Hiccup looked across the room and spied Astrid, who was literally trembling in rage. Her eyes were ablaze against the torchlight, and were locked on him with more intensity than the Gronkle which tried to take his life. Her freckles that he daydreamed over were suffocated by a glaring flush. She had always found him irritating and a klutz – he knew that. But never had her fury been pinpointed on him with such intensity._

 _Hiccup watched Astrid flick dart eyes about the room, towards Snotlout and the twins, checking that each of them shared her emotion. The expression of rage oozed from her face and a very smug, very vindictive curl marred her lips. Such unfamiliar spite caused Hiccup to flinch._

 _Astrid knew that Hiccup's life would be made Hel because of his actions._

 _And that thrilled her.))_

For just a moment that cruel smile was back on Astrid's face. And then she was gone, striding into the hall and leaving Hiccup below her on the stairs.

Nothing was spoken, and yet everything was spoken. An uncomfortable heat stirred in the bottom of his stomach, and writhed its way to the top of his throat.

 _Useless._

The word set Hiccup's body alight with a very real ache; the expression that Astrid wore spoke it clearer than any jeer from Snotlout.

"Bet you think I've deserved the shit that's happened to me since that raid, don't you Astrid?" Hiccup hissed, letting the heat in his body burst aflame. "Is that what useless people deserve?" His fists clenched hard enough for his burnt forearm to gnash with pain.

Hiccup threw his broom on the stairs and marched down the stairs, his chest heaving and face tightened by rage. He would _not_ let her feel this way. He would _not_ let three years of hell be deserved.

Even if it meant tracking down the corpse of a Night Fury to validate his own bloody worth.

o-o-o

The forest that enclosed raven point was a canvas of jagged hills that pooled enough fog for the treetops to be hidden. Dim sunlight threatened to pierce its way to the mossy ground, marking the end of the cold-snap. Equipped with little more than his axe and a stony expression, Hiccup's mood had made far less of a recovery. Birdsong surrendered to the crunching of leaves and branches under Hiccup's heavy steps, casting an eerie silence that would wary even the hardiest Vikings.

But only the shimmer of black scales, speckled with blood, was on Hiccup's mind.

A patch of skin. A pound of flesh. A tooth, or claw, or _anything_. A reminder for him and only him that he was not useless, no matter what filth dribbled from the mouths of Vikings.

Fantasies swirled within Hiccup's head as he continued trudging down the mossy hill. The teenager's heart thrummed as his creativity, which he so ruthlessly suppressed, began to run wild. He could make a glove to protect his forearm, or a small dagger from a tooth. Claw necklaces, bone arrows and hide clothing all danced about Hiccup's mind – each an ultimate testament to his survival against a world which clearly resented him.

All he had to do was find the body.

There was no chance that the Dragon had survived from such a high fall. The Night Fury was undoubtedly tough, but to crash into Berk's terrain from hundreds of yards in the sky was insanity. Hiccup clambered over a boulder – no smaller than a yak and likely older than his bloodline. Hiccup had no doubts of what would happen to an animal that hurtled into such a thing.

 _Was there anything left of the body?_

If the Night Fury's body had not been pulverized by the fall, perhaps scavengers had already finished what was left. Hiccup knew of at least seven wolf packs that prowled the island, and he could remember more than a few cases of dragon cannibalism from the kill ring.

Hiccup let out a ragged breath, and slowed his pace. He gazed about the woodlands – the endless mist and murky green that was all so hauntingly still – and felt far less confident than when he embarked.

It had only taken a moment of creativity for the veil of rage to be lifted from his eyes. He had no plan to track his kill, nor the means to kill anything which may be scavenging on it. Hiccup looked at his woodcutting axe and snorted. Would this even make a dent in the legendary dragon's hide?

"Oh," Hiccup muttered dryly, staring aimlessly about the forest. "I might also be lost."

A piercing roar echoed across the forest.

Hiccup whipped his head to face the noise. The string of curses at the tip of his tongue were dried up, and the teenager's eyes widened with stunned realisation.

 _Surely not._

A second roar followed – deeper and frighteningly familiar. The forest trembled as the beast's bellow echoed like a haunting ghoul.

Hiccup stood unmoving, facing the noise. Thoughts of bone arrows and hide gloves bled from his mind, until the only the most primeval urge to run occupied his mind. He saw the glint of razor teeth, and the tensing of rippled muscle underneath glossy black scales. The unholy – and seemingly invincible – offspring of lightning and death itself. Hiccup had been lucky to survive once; only a moronic Viking would try their luck a second time.

Hiccup turned back to the way he came and walked.

 _Useless._

He saw Astrid's face. He heard Snotlout's words. He felt Stoick's shame.

Hiccup gripped his axe and let out a sigh. "I must be fucking crazy." He spun on his heels and took off running before his common sense begged otherwise. "But I'm not what they think I am."

Another shrill howl scraped against Hiccup's ears as he ran. Birds scattered from the tree line in a panicked flurry yet the teenager's eyes remained locked on the fog ahead, hunting the source of their fear. The source of _his_ fear, writhing within him but unable to match Hiccup's sheer willpower. Trees hurtled past Hiccup in a flurry of sunlit green, and after what felt like seconds he slid to a halt at the bottom of the hill. Steam billowed from Hiccup's rasping mouth and he noticed how loudly his heart had been drumming in his ears.

Hiccup waited; listened. When the throb of his heart finally mellowed, the distant sound of snarls echoed from his flank.

 _That can't just be the Night Fury._

Slowly and carefully, Hiccup crept towards. With each step the sound of another, deeper growl could be heard behind the unmistakable shriek which Hiccup thought he silenced. There was a flicker of red between two enormous boulders in front of the teenager and his body froze in an instant.

 _Nightmare. Monstrous Nightmare._

Hiccup crouched low but did not take his eyes off the gap in the rocks, no less than a dozen yards away. There must be a drop of some sort behind those boulders, Hiccup reasoned, because there looked to be much distance between he and the creature which would gladly tear him apart.

 _Yep. I'm fucking insane._

Hiccup edged between the stones and looked down into a deep pit – lush with moss shrubs and even a small lake. And there was not one, but _two_ Monstrous Nightmares before him. The beasts, one with fiery red scales and the other a sickly shade of yellow, were both fully grown; laden with jagged spines and teeth that gleamed with spittle. Guttural growls filled the forest as both dragons paced back and forth – their amber eyes locked on the corner of a pit where a towering pine tree met the ground in a mess of tangled roots. There was a large gap between two of the roots, and within it a shadow flickered amongst the darkness.

Hiccup watched in morbid fascination as the yellow Nightmare edged closer to the roots, it's teeth bared in a vicious snarl. The dragon paused, then dove its horned head into the gap. There was a sickening wet noise and the Nightmare wrenched its head away, howling in agony. Blood sprayed the stones and grass of the pit and as the dragon stumbled backwards, Hiccup spied a horrendous gash that had nearly split its yellow face in half.

The red Monstrous Nightmare bellowed and thrust its jaws into the same hole with even more speed. The dragon jerked and pulled with muffled growls until a ferocious shriek tore through the pit and a mass of black scales was flung out from underneath the tree.

Hiccup could not believe what he was seeing.

The Night Fury scrambled to its feet as the two Monstrous Nightmares circled it like wolves would a sheep. Free from the confines of his crowded home and amongst other Dragons, Hiccup noticed just how small the Dragon was – little more than wings, razor teeth and rage held together by glossy black scales. The teenager thought he had seen the beast angry when it was invading his room, but the rage which rolled off it now was beyond palpable. Every inch of the dragon's stocky body was lithe with muscles ready to burst into deadly fury, and its blade-like head was –

Hiccup spied a rope tied around the Night Fury's jaws, and his thoughts came to a shuddering halt.

The Night Fury tried to pivot and keep both Monstrous Nightmares in its sights, but the dragon stumbled clumsily. The rope was noosed around it's legs and body, too – knotting itself on the Night Fury's wings with two unmistakable bola weights.

 _It can't fly away._

Hiccup looked back at the Night Fury's head. It furiously strained against the rope, with jaws unable to open more than a few inches. It's once frighteningly green eyes were milky slits, straining terribly in the sunlight.

The gored yellow Nightmare pounced, leaping forward with a burst of its wings. The Night Fury whirled its body in defence, despite the near-blindness and bondage. The black dragon's tail whipped across the nose of the Nightmare in a spray of broken teeth but the red Nightmare thrust its jaws forward and caught the tail fin between its jaws.

A shriek of furious pain rang in Hiccup ears but it was hardly enough to make him look away. The red Nightmare reared its head back, furiously shaking the tail fin which crunched and tore between its jagged teeth. The Night Fury shrieked again, higher pitch and unmistakable panic lacing the banshee-like noise. With a single, desperate tug the black Dragon tore its tail out of the Nightmare's mouth. There was a sickening rip, and Hiccup saw that the tail fin had remained in the jaws.

The Night Fury screeched so loud that Hiccup flinched violently and the panicked flutter of bird wings echoed across the forest. The dragon turned to face the source of its mutilation, its snarling face the very embodiment of wrath, but the red Nightmare leapt backwards with a beat of its wings. The yellow Nightmare mewled agonisingly, teeth wobbling as it called to its brethren, and the red Dragon seemingly answered with a short bark. Both dragons took to the skies left the Night Fury, bleeding and alone.

Hiccup was as sure of his thoughts on Dragons as Vikings were. They were pests – scavengers that were killed in false glory for trying to scavenge on food that was too stubborn to leave. Only the Night Fury, a Dragon that had gone out of its way to steal from what was Hiccup's, had been worthy of his retaliation. But as the teenager watched the black Dragon pace in circles, crooning at the sight of its half-tail, he could not ignore the lack of contempt within him.

Hiccup had known the Night Fury was unlike other animals from the moment it had entered his house, and unworthy of the disdain he held towards other Dragons. Dragons such as the two Monstrous Nightmares which had just tormented the Night Fury with clear intent on killing. And yet despite being out of its element, immobilised and outnumbered, they had failed. Hiccup looked down at his axe, and could no longer see it carving through glossy black scales. For nearly killing him and stealing his fish, the teenager had downed it and caused it to be preyed on by others. He had found his vengeance, and that alone was the validation he so craved when leaving the village that morning.

"I guess that this makes us even" Hiccup whispered, watching as the Night Fury stumbled back towards the mess of tree roots which it had been hiding under. The Dragon tripped and landed heavily on its belly, and sunlight glinted off the two bola balls which remained knotted atop its folded wings.

Hiccup winced. Leaving that snare on the beast was a cruelty that overstepped his revenge. Condemning the Night Fury to starvation or attacks from more creatures was the kind of brainless action which had steered Berk into hundreds of years of war. The woodcutting axe felt heavy in Hiccup's hand, and he let out a sigh.

 _Crazy was an understatement._


End file.
